


We saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: "I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus" elements, Christmas, Derek and Stiles are parents, Fluff, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, M/M kissing, Stiles is dressed as Santa, The kids belong to Azurarain I just had to name them something, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vaguely Implied Sexual Content, Werewolf Derek, based on fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 22:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16941858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: No child wants to fall asleep the night before Christmas, and just because they do doesn't mean they'll sleep the whole night through.





	We saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> Story based on Azurarain's gorgeous [christmas drawing](https://theydraggedmein.tumblr.com/post/180995839368/sterekreblogsandart-so-this-is-from-last-year). In fact, you should go tell Azura how amazingly talented they are!
> 
> I don't think I forgot any tags, but if I did let me know and I'll add them; otherwise comments, kudos and constructive critism welcome.
> 
> Unbetaed because I got no time management skills whatsoever, so you can point out glaring errors, too.... glaring errors probably includes my fickle relationship with commas, but in my defence English isn't my first language."

Twas the night before Christmas.

The world was dark, the only light coming from the barely there moon and the numerous stars twinkling in the cloudless sky. Cold wind swept through the leaves on the ground and the bare tree tops. No other sounds could be heard.

Among the trees was a house; not as big as its predecessor but large enough to block the view across the clearing it was built in. The front darker than the surroundings but on the back a window was lit up by the steady glow of electricity.

Inside the house is warm; the fireplace dark and cold but the radiators keeping the temperature up. The whole house smell like fir and sugar, in the kitchen the smell of cookies and hot chocolate still linger.

On the first floor, in the room closest to the stairs, two little boys are tucked into bed, their eyes finally closed in sleep after hours of resisting, too excited to rest but finally caught up with exhaustion. The curtains flutter softly in the cold wind gaining entrance through the window left slightly ajar, causing the child closest to it to mumble in his sleep, pulling his covers closer to keep himself warm. His brother remains still, mouth hanging open as he breathes deeply, lost in pleasant dreams.

Downstairs in the living room their father is sitting on the couch. His flannel pyjama pants hidden by the blanket draped over his legs, the green sweater keeping his upper body warm. In his hands is a well read book, on the table a cup of lukewarm tea which is long forgotten. The only light in the room is the blinking lights on the tree they just decorated this morning and the reading lamp behind him. He yawns, as tired as his sons but far more successful in his refusal of sleep.

However, it’s a losing battle. Soon his eyes begin to droop, the book dangerously close to falling to the floor.

Then a sudden noise. Startled his eyes fly open, fingers clutching the book like a lifeline, heart racing and the frantic search for an intruder or danger. He’s almost halfway up the stairs when he sees it, his eyes widening in disbelief.

There’s a _sleigh_ standing outside the house. He can’t see it from this angle, but he can hear what he thinks might be a horse. Taking half a step back his eyes confirms it. The animal in front of the sleigh definitely looks horse-like though he’s never in his life heard of one with antlers; he shakes his head, hoping it’s merely a dream.

The horse doesn’t go away so he turns his eyes back to the sleigh itself. It looks like every stereotypical santa’s sleigh in every Christmas movie ever, though it definitely isn’t painted red - beyond that he can’t make out the color in the poor lightning from the tiny moon and the far away stars – even down to the giant burlap sack overflowing with festively wrapped presents.

Giving up on the angle and the too small window he walks back down the stairs – there are no noises to be heard from the first floor, his sons’ heart beats strong and calm in their sleep and he feels the length of the day even more now that adrenaline isn’t coursing through him any more – hoping to see the sleigh’s owner through the door or kitchen window.

He’s distracted on his quest by the sound of a door opening on the other side of the house followed by footsteps the owner is clearly trying to muffle the sound of. Had he been human he most likely wouldn’t have heard, but he isn’t so he does and his own footsteps are soundless as he moves back towards the living room.

Squatting in front of the tree with his back to the room is Santa. Or rather, a guy _dressed_ like Santa, with the red suit and the hat, even the beard if the white at either side of the person’s face is to be believed. He clears his throat pointedly, startling the ‘Santa’ bad enough he loses his balance, thankfully he falls backwards and to the side rather than into the tree.

Amber eyes filled with mirth catches his and before long ‘Santa’s’ on his feet, dusting of his suit.

“Ho ho ho, have you been naughty or nice,” ‘Santa’ asks, the beard moving with his words. Rather than answering – because what self-respecting, nearly forty-year-old man would dignify that with one – he rolls his eyes.

“Well,” ‘Santa drawls, giving him a slow once over, “your face might say ‘nice’ but your hips scream ‘naughty’.” ‘Santa’ nods to himself while filling the stockings hanging on the mantle next to the tree with sweets and a few tiny gifts; then he turns, cheshire grin hidden by the beard but clearly audible in his voice: “Good thing I’m all out of coal.”

Shaking his head fondly he takes a step closer to ‘Santa’, grabbing his beard and pulling him to his chest. The beard tickles and smells a little like mothballs but the lips under it are soft and warm, responding eagerly to the movement of his own; he’s distantly aware the gasp coming from the hall, but then there’s a tongue in his mouth that isn’t his and that’s all he can think about.

Eventually they need to separate, both a little light headed and short of breath. ‘Santa’s’ hands have ended up around his neck, green clad arms encasing the other’s waist.

“I barely recognized you,” he says, tugging at the beard for emphasis. Neither of them notice the disbelieving look their onlookers send each other nor the faces they make when the two men resume their kissing.

~

Christmas morning. The forest bustling with life under the rays of the bright sun and the chill of the winter air. The house in the middle of the preserve looks warm and welcoming though the sleigh and the horse seems to be gone without a trace.

In the kitchen two men are making breakfast, one on bacon duty the other making sure there are enough chocolate chips in the pancake batter for the occasion. It’s almost a dance the way they move around the room with practiced ease, the familiarity with the other’s movements and where about speaking of years of doing this together.

Sounds from upstairs has the both of them raising their eyes to the ceiling, then - when it sounds like stampeding wildebeests coming down the stairs - they turn to each other, shaking their heads and resuming their tasks.

“Papa, Papa,” comes the excited cry from Owen - their youngest - as he comes into the kitchen, still clutching the plush wolf that looks like his daddy during the full moon. “Guess who we saw last night,” he continues, out of breath from both the running and excitement. At a more sedate pace his brother - Luke - follows, trying to keep a straight face, already knowing what his brother’s going to say.

Putting the whisk down and turning to give his son his full attention, their Papa raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“We saw Santa’s sleigh,” Owen whisper-yells with awe coloring every word. At the same time Daddy takes the pan off the stove, carefully transfering the bacon to the paper towel to dry off the fat. Owen, carefully tracking his movements leans closer to Papa, conspiratorially whispering:

“We saw Santa, too. And you know what he did?” Papa shakes his head, barely able to contain his smile.

“Daddy and Santa were _kissing_.” Owen sounds about as scandalized as he had been when there wasn’t any nutella growing in the garden, even though he’d planted and weeded and watered the patch of dirt for weeks.

“And then Daddy said he was,” a pause, mulling over the unfamiliar word and after a few tries looking to his brother for help.

“Unrecognizable,” Luke helpfully supplies from besides Daddy, the two of them with their backs turned to the rest of the kitchen, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Owen nods and then adds “but I knew as soon as I saw him, Papa. With the suit and beard and the presents in the sleigh,” his tone making it clear he thinks his Daddy might not be the brightest crayon in the box.

“Really?” Papa asks, “Daddy didn’t know who Santa was?” He glances at his husband and eldest son, then back at Owen. “That means, as the only one who knew Santa was in the house, you get to pick the first present.” With a squeal of joy Owen rushes off to the living room, taking in the sight of all the presents piled under the tree his excited babble floating back to the kitchen.

Luke’s right behind him - knowing Owen will examine _every. single. present_ before choosing if left to his own devices and hoping to speed up the process with some careful nudging - turns in the doorway to see Daddy and Papa kissing, his enhanced senses letting him eavesdrop:

__

“Really, Derek? Not recognizing Santa Claus? Age catching up with you, Elder Wolf,” Papa laughs.

__

“I don’t recall you complaining last night when I was…” Daddy leans even closer to Papa and whispers something Luke can’t hear anyway, so he turns again and takes the last few steps to the tree and his brother.

__

Owen’s still searching for the perfect first gift when Daddy and Papa walks into the room, mugs of hot chocolate in hand that they place on the coffee table before sitting next to each other on the couch. There’s a faint trace of pink in Papa’s cheeks but both he and Daddy are smiling, giving their sons their full attention as they start opening their presents.

__

_**[end]** _

__

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened to the sleigh and horse. Maybe they were magical illusions, maybe the horse is munching on whatever horses eat in a warm, cozy stable.
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
